


Shades of Green

by writingandchocolatemilk



Series: RusAme Oneshots [7]
Category: Hetalia: Axis Powers
Genre: Alternate Universe - Fight Club, Alternate Universe - Human, Fight Club - Freeform, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-05-03
Updated: 2015-05-03
Packaged: 2018-03-28 18:55:46
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 883
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3866014
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/writingandchocolatemilk/pseuds/writingandchocolatemilk
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Arthur opened his eyes, observing the distant ceiling. It seemed too bright. He was on his back, and his face was throbbing. It took a second to realize his ears were ringing before the sound snapped back. The sounds of cheers and grunts. </p><p>Then the smell—sweat, cigarette smoke. </p><p>The ceiling came into focus. It was leaky pipes and water stains, cheap lights that<br/>flickered. Then a head blocked out the light.</p><p>Alfred grinned, looking entirely too smug for the situation at hand. He reached a hand down, which Arthur ignored and hauled himself up. There were a few slaps on the back, and Arthur wanted to crawl upstairs and take a cold shower.</p><p>((Fight Club!AU))</p>
            </blockquote>





	Shades of Green

**Author's Note:**

> Yes but Fight Club!AU.
> 
> I was thinking it would be Matthew and Alfred, but tbh it would Arthur who would benefit most from a charismatic, parasitic personality.

Arthur opened his eyes, observing the distant ceiling. It seemed too bright. He was on his back, and his face was throbbing. It took a second to realize his ears were ringing before the sound snapped back. The sounds of cheers and grunts. 

Then the smell—sweat, cigarette smoke. 

The ceiling came into focus. It was leaky pipes and water stains, cheap lights that flickered. Then a head blocked out the light.

Alfred grinned, looking entirely too smug for the situation at hand. He reached a hand down, which Arthur ignored and hauled himself up. There were a few slaps on the back, and Arthur wanted to crawl upstairs and take a cold shower.

“Not doin’ so hot tonight, eh?”

Arthur had met Alfred on a train headed toward nowhere; he had been wearing an old leather jacket and grinned at Arthur like he knew something. Alfred had pushed a case of expensive soap on him before disappearing into the crowd. Arthur had went home and looked at the soap, perched on his orderly countertop, and wondered who the fuck he had just talked to. 

Arthur worked for a company. It was a company that made other people’s lives miserable with letters and bills and hidden fees. Arthur had trudged to work and then back to his apartment, relishing in the neat and orderly furniture from a catalog. 

But the soap, stacked neatly in the briefcase, annoyed him more than it should have. 

Arthur pushed through the bodies, grimacing at the smell. The newer members were at the back, still pudgy, still with long hair, bruised and beaten, holding bruised ribs. They stepped aside, allowing Arthur to lean against a support beam. 

In the center of the circle, Antonio paced. Arthur had his ass handed to him by that fucker every fight they had. Antonio would pace back and forth, then dart forward. Arthur was faster, but when that fist collided with his stomach, Arthur’s knees nearly gave out. 

Another contestant—an angry Italian—stepped forward, ripping off his shirt. 

Alfred neared, leering grin still on his face. Arthur ignored him, focusing on the fight. 

“You know, if you weren’t so intimidated by him, you probably wouldn’t get fucking wailed.”

Arthur gritted his teeth. “I’m not _intimidated_ by him.”

Alfred shrugged, letting out a cheer as the Italian landed a solid punch. 

“You’re depressed.”

Arthur had looked up from his catalog table, in the middle of rearranging the catalog magazines. Alfred stood there, apartment door wide open behind him, leather jacket dry despite the rain pouring outside. Arthur knocked the magazines off the table by accident.

“Get the fuck out of my apartment!”

But the statement had eaten away at Arthur. It nipped at his heels when he walked to the bus, hung over his head when he sat at his desk during work, repeated itself in radio static. Arthur looked around his pristine apartment. Looked around his cubicle, at the list of names he needed to charge with hidden fees. He looked at his apartment building, at the payphone next to him.

And then his apartment had blown up. 

Antonio threw a well-timed punch and the Italian crumpled. Arthur felt his cheeks grow warm as Antonio laughed, helping the Italian up. Alfred was still grinning, and the heat of the basement was over-whelming. 

Arthur strode forward, back into the ring. Antonio gave him an amused look—a look tinged with something like pity. He cracked his knuckles and Arthur lunged, slamming into Antonio and throwing him off-balance.  

The man barked out a surprised laugh, but Arthur was still moving. He stepped forward, slamming his knee into Antonio’s thigh. The other man buckled and Arthur swung a fist. 

However, Antonio was bigger. He shoved Arthur away, giving himself a few moments to recover. For a moment, Arthur thought he had misjudged the whole thing, but then Antonio darted forward and Arthur met him in the middle and lost himself. 

“Arthur!”

Intimidated. _Intimidated_. 

“ _Arthur_!” Alfred’s voice cut through the fog in his head like a spotlight. 

Arthur blinked and looked down. Looked at his bloody knuckles and then at Antonio’s face again. The adrenaline died down and all Arthur wanted to do was take a shower again. 

The house was not a catalog house. It was hardly a house, more like four stories held together with twine and stacks of water damaged books. It leaked, it had rats, it smelled strongly of animal fat and homemade soap. 

It had thin walls. 

When Ivan had first arrived, Arthur had regarded him vague suspicion. He and Alfred were either arguing with one another, sabotaging one another, or fucking. Loudly. And then Alfred would come down in the mornings and make coffee.

Alfred hummed, pouring instant coffee into the coffeemaker. Arthur’s eyes were on the scratches and bites adoring Alfred’s body. They looked painful, and Arthur was cross he had been kept up for those claw marks. 

It took Arthur a moment to realize Alfred was looking at him. He took a sip of his coffee.

“Don’t talk about me.”

Arthur pulled a face. “What?”

“To Ivan. Don’t mention me.” Alfred grinned. “You jealous I got laid?”

Arthur’s eyes slid off of Alfred. “No.”

As Ivan strolled out of the house, Alfred’s words replayed in his head.  


End file.
